Three Little Words
by Swanseajill
Summary: When an old enemy of John's forces him to choose between his sons, how will the brothers deal with the aftermath?
1. Chapter 1

**Three Little Words**

by Swanseajill

Characters:Dean and Sam

Word count:5179  
Spoilers:Devil's Trap  
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters nor am I making any money from them.  
Author's notes: Angela – I can't thank you enough for the beta and edit job you did on this. You're the best.

**Summary: When an old enemy of John's forces him to choose between his sons, how will the brothers deal with the aftermath?**

**Prologue**

Held in place by an invisible but incredibly powerful force, John Winchester gazed helplessly at his sons. Paralyzed and robbed of the power to speak, Dean and Sam hung pinned against the wall by that same supernatural energy. Between them, a large hunting knife hovered in midair, its honed edge gleaming.

"Make your choice, Winchester. Which of your sons will live and which will die?"

John shook his head. "I won't make that choice!"

The knife moved, coming to rest mere inches from Sam's face.

"What about Sam? Your youngest, your baby, the special one? Surely you won't sentence little Sammy to death?"

John's heart bled at the desperation in Sam's eyes, knowing that his son was fighting mentally against the power that held him in a futile attempt to set his own powers free. Then his eyes tracked the knife as it moved again, this time coming to rest over Dean's heart, the point just touching the fabric of his shirt.

"Yet how could you give up your firstborn, the devoted little soldier who follows you blindly like a little puppy dog?"

John met Dean's eyes, and there was no mistaking the desperate plea in their depths. "Save Sam!"

John dragged his eyes away from Dean and fastened his gaze on his captor. "Please… you don't have to do this."

"Oh, I think I do."

"You're going to kill us all anyway, Manson. What difference does it make?"

"That would be the easy way out for you, wouldn't it? No, I'm not going to kill you or the son you choose to save. I want you to suffer, Winchester. I want you to live, to spend every day for the rest of your life second-guessing the choice you made. This is your last chance. If you don't choose, I'll kill them both. Now which of your boys is going to die?"

The knife floated lazily back to its position between Dean and Sam and began to glow brightly.

"Choose!"

Two sets of eyes met his and John experienced a moment of profound pride at the strength and courage of his sons. Then he steeled himself and his eyes fixed on Dean. "Dean, I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

**Sam**

Sam lay sprawled on one of the twin beds in the dimly lit motel room, hands laced behind his head. It was quiet, but for the sound of the shower running in the bathroom nearby. His gaze was focused upward, but for once, he didn't see Jess, pinned to the ceiling, her lifeless eyes staring down at him. This time he saw only his brother as he had looked when he walked into the bathroom a few moments earlier, closing the door firmly behind him.

Dean tried very hard to project an image of careless indifference and succeeded in fooling most of the people most of the time. He even fooled Sam – some of the time. But Sam knew, as very few did, that if you really wanted to know what was going on in Dean's heart, you had only to look into his eyes. So when Dean had glanced briefly in his direction a few moments ago, his face an expressionless mask, Sam had used those hazel mirrors to confirm the pain and confusion he already suspected his brother was feeling.

Sam closed his eyes and immediately his mind took him back to that godforsaken warehouse…

After those fateful three words, the glowing knife moved swiftly to hover over Dean's heart. Sam focused harder on the knife, desperate to divert its course. He had moved objects before -- he could do it again. But even though he felt his brain would burst with the effort, the knife remained stubbornly poised over its target. Then the weapon moved, penetrating his brother's chest. He shouted Dean's name, the word echoing as a piercing scream in his mind although no sound came out of his mouth. He heard his father's agonized cry of denial, then the knife dropped to the ground and instantly he found himself free.

Something had apparently weakened Manson's power, and with a surprised expression and muttered curse, he made his escape. John headed off in pursuit while Sam ran to his brother.

Dean had slumped to the ground and Sam feared the worst when he saw blood staining his shirt. He examined the wound with shaking hands and relief left him light-headed when he found that while bleeding copiously, the cut was not too deep and would probably not even need stitches.

By the time Sam had tended to Dean's wound and helped his trembling brother to his feet, their father had returned, having lost his prey. The Winchesters wasted no time in leaving the deserted warehouse, piling into Dad's truck and driving the five miles to the backwoods Colorado town where the boys had met up with their father earlier that day.

No one uttered a word during that journey. Sam sat in the back, eyes flicking back and forth between the two tense men in the front. Neither moved a muscle; Dad concentrated on the road ahead while Dean stared out of the side window. They arrived back at the parking lot where they had left the Impala and got out of the car, standing around it in an awkward silence.

"You boys best put some distance between yourselves and this place," Dad said finally. "We don't know where Manson is or what other little surprises he might have up his sleeve."

"You going to tell us now who he is?" Sam asked.

His father hesitated. "It's a long story. I knew him a long time ago. He blames me for the death of one of his sons. Let's just leave it at that."

Sam wasn't satisfied, but he had to concede that this wasn't the appropriate time for long explanations. He glanced at Dean, but his brother was silent, staring off into the distance, locked in his own thoughts and refusing to be part of the conversation. "Was he possessed?" Sam asked.

His father slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he found a way to harness a demon's power – and somehow it got away from him.."

"So, what's the next step?"

"We split up. I'll head north; you boys head west."

Sam wasn't sure he liked this plan. Too often Dad appeared out of the blue and disappeared again just as quickly. "I think we should stick together."

His father shook his head. "No. Manson's after revenge. It's best if we make it more difficult for him. Safer for you."

Dean looked up, then. "Safer. Yeah."

The emptiness in Dean's voice frightened Sam.

Dad must have heard it too, for he took a step towards Dean, hand outstretched. "Dean…"

Dean took a deliberate step back. "Don't. It's okay. You made the right decision back there."

"Son, please."

Dean shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about. We're all fine. The Winchesters live to fight another day. There's nothing else to say." He turned abruptly and walked to the Impala. "Sam, let's go."

Sam hesitated. He knew it was wrong to leave like this. They needed to talk about what had happened, about the choice Dad had made and why he'd made it. He could see that Dad knew it too, for with one quick glance at the Impala, he drew Sam to one side, out of earshot of his elder son.

"Sam, you know it was an impossible choice."

"Why did you choose me?" Sam thought he knew the answer, but he wanted his father to admit it.

"I love you both, you know that."

"But you chose me."

John was silent.

"You chose me because of my abilities, didn't you?" Sam went on, when it became evident that he wasn't going to get an answer. "Because there's something special about me, something that The Demon's afraid of, that you can use to defeat it."

He held his father's eyes as he spoke and there was something in their depths that he didn't understand, something that touched him and for a moment made him doubt the truth of his own conclusion. Then his father's expression shifted.

"You're right. It was the… it was the logical choice to make."

"Logical? You chose to sacrifice Dean because it was logical?" Sam virtually spat the words at his father. He was on the verge of unleashing the anger that had been simmering within him for the past hour, ever since he had worked out the truth.

John briefly looked across at Dean, who had glanced their way as Sam raised his voice. "I didn't mean it to sound so clinical, son."

"How did you mean it to sound, then?" Sam held his father's eyes for long moments. He wanted nothing more than to lash out, but somehow common sense got the better of his emotions. Getting into a shouting match wasn't going to change anything, and it sure as hell wasn't going to help Dean. He glanced at his brother, who met his eyes briefly before turning away and getting into the driver's seat.

Sam swallowed and turned his attention once more to his father. "It's okay," he forced himself to say, though he knew it was far from okay. In fact, it might never be okay again. "You're right, it was an impossible choice."

"Sam, your brother…"

"I'll take care of Dean. Just… get in touch when you can." Sam turned away abruptly, stalked off to the Impala and got into the passenger seat without another word. As soon as he closed the door, the engine roared into life and Dean hit the gas hard. Sam looked once into the rearview mirror to see their father still standing motionless in the road behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean**

"_Dean, I'm sorry…" _

Those three little words echoed around in his mind until he wanted to bang his head against the wall to make them stop.

There was no question that Dad had made the right decision back there. It had to be Sam. Dean's whole life had been about protecting his little brother – he knew it and his father knew it – and that was the way it should be.

Yet… yet when his father had looked him in the eye and said those three fateful words, something inside him had torn apart. Not because he was afraid to die. For most of his life, the threat of death had been a constant companion, and he had long ago accepted that. It was just… he shook his head, angry at his feelings, unwilling to accept his own selfishness. For Dad's decision to sacrifice him had hurt far worse than the physical pain he'd suffered. Those three little words had broken through the wall he had built up over the past twenty years, and he had met head-on the truth he had always known. Dad loved Sam best and always had.

All through his childhood Dean had been the good little soldier, following orders, looking after little Sammy, covering for Sammy when he blatantly defied their father. Yet while Dean had been the model son, it was Sam the rebel, Sam the son who constantly questioned the family's mission, who held John Winchester's heart. Even when he had committed the worst crime of all – leaving home to find a life of his own – Dad's thoughts had still revolved around him. The frequency with which their journeys took them near Stanford testified to this, as did the number of friends Dad asked to look out for him.

Dean's love for his brother had been the one thing that had made everything bearable while he'd buried the truth and the pain deep inside and built a wall around the hurt. It didn't matter that Dad loved Sam best, he'd told himself, because Dad loved him, too, in his own quiet way.

Cracks had appeared in the wall from time to time. Eight months ago, The Demon, speaking with his father's voice, had taunted him with the truth and punched a large hole in his fortress. He'd come close to death then. Weeks had passed while he recovered physically, but he'd managed to patch up the damage and go on.

Now, he could feel the wall beginning to crumble around him.

He turned the shower on full power and stepped under the steaming stream. The water beat down on him, needling his skin, stabbing pain into the cut on his chest and pounding viciously into the bruises that covered his back. Dean shoved away the hurt, ducking his head under the flow and welcoming the roar of water that blocked out his confused thoughts for a few blessed moments.

He stayed there until the water began to run cold. Then, reluctantly, he turned the shower off and reached for a towel. Pain sliced through his back and he bit back a groan at its intensity. Standing under the hot water, preoccupied with his thoughts, he had almost forgotten the physical hurt, but now it made itself felt, stabbing deeply from his left shoulder right down to his hip. He knew from past experience that he would probably be in agony tomorrow when the bruising came out; was, in fact, not far short of that now.

Mechanically, he toweled off and with some difficulty, pulled on a clean pair of boxers. He contemplated a T-shirt and then rejected it – he could barely raise his left arm more than a few inches. There was no way he was going to be able to pull a shirt on. Pouring some antiseptic wash over the cut on his chest, he hissed at the sting as liquid met raw flesh, and then stuck a dressing pad over the top. The bandage neatly hid the damage, but evidence remained in the bloodstained shirt balled up on the floor. The stains should fade with time. He wondered if the memory would.

Dean carefully sat down on the toilet seat, running a hand wearily over his face. He wasn't ready yet to go out there and face Sam. He knew his brother was worried. It would have been hard to miss the concerned glances shot his way through the drive down here. But he couldn't talk to Sam about this, not now. Pain at his father's choice mingled with shame and anger at himself. How could he feel hurt when that very choice had been made to save Sam? What kind of brother was he? And what would Sam think of him, if he knew the truth?

God, this was all too much to deal with. He felt tears welling behind his eyelids and blinked them back angrily. Dean Winchester didn't cry. Not in public, not alone and not with his family. Especially not with his family. The last time he'd cried in front of Sam he'd been seven. He'd fallen out of a tree and broken his arm and the pain had been so bad that he'd been unable to hold back the tears that started to fall. Seeing him cry had upset his brother so much that Sam had bawled until he was sick. Dean had felt bad about that. His job was to protect his brother, and part of that was playing the role of the strong big brother at all times, including now. But his body didn't seem to understand that as his eyes burned with unshed tears.

Dean stood up abruptly, angry at his weakness. No way was he going to give in to self-pity. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. The eyes that stared back at him were lost and hopeless. He couldn't bear the sight of his heart laid bare before him, and as anger and frustration welled up, he swung a fist at the offending image. The mirror fractured and pain flared through his hand. As shards of glass shattered loudly against the sink, he reflexively jumped back, knocking over a small cabinet with what seemed to him a deafening crash.

"Dean? Dean, are you okay?"

Sam's voice, urgent and dripping with concern. Dean rubbed the hip he'd caught on the corner of the cabinet and swore under his breath. "I'm fine." Blood dripped down his hand, mingling with glass fragments to form a mottled pattern against the stark white of the sink.

Silence. Then, "Dean?"

"I'm fine." The words came out as a snarl as he wrapped a towel around his bleeding hand. He carefully lowered himself back onto the toilet seat, critically surveying the mess he'd created. Breaking the mirror might have been a stupid, childish thing to do, but it had served its purpose. The threatening tears had subsided and now he felt only numb and empty.

Taking a shaky breath, he unwrapped the towel to study the damage to his hand. A couple of nasty cuts, but none too deep. He flexed his fingers, relieved that they moved freely. No bones broken. As he reached for the first-aid kit once again, he took a few more deep breaths to steady his breathing. It was going to be all right. Sam needn't know what he was really feeling. He could pretend everything was fine, until he could put the pieces back together again, build the wall back up. And he would do that. He couldn't afford not to.

Nothing had changed, after all. There were still people who needed his help and there was still a demon to catch. There was still Sammy to look out for.

Nothing had changed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sam**

Since the sound of shattering glass followed by a loud crash and muffled curses had brought Sam bounding to his feet, heart pounding, there had been relative silence from the bathroom. Sam had restrained himself from hammering down the door. Dean's second shout of, "I'm fine!" while probably less than true, had contained more irritation than pain, and Sam was fairly confident that his brother would have asked for help if there was something seriously wrong.

Now, though, he was getting agitated. Fifteen minutes had gone by and he was about to go check on his brother when the bathroom door opened and Dean emerged. Sam frowned at the way he was moving, slowly and slightly hunched over. There was little evidence of colorful bruising yet, but there was obvious swelling down the left-hand side of Dean's back, from shoulder to hip, and it was clear that he was in a lot of pain.

Sam's mind flipped back to the events in the warehouse. Dean had taken the brunt of the supernatural power's attack. It had flung him with bone-jarring force into a concrete wall several times, until it had knocked all the fight out of him. Sam bit his lip, wondered just how bad Dean's injuries were. He hated to see his brother hurt, and Dean had been hurt plenty over the years. The last time had been eight months ago, when The Demon had tried to tear him apart from the inside out. Sam still had nightmares about carrying his brother's blood-soaked body from that cabin to the car.

Another concern was the bandage wrapped around Dean's right hand. There had been nothing wrong with Dean's hand when he'd entered the bathroom. It didn't take a genius to connect the injury with the breaking glass. It also didn't take a genius to work out that Dean had probably put his fist through the mirror in a fit of anger. It took a little brother's intuition, however, to work out that the anger had resulted from the turbulent emotions he'd earlier glimpsed in Dean's eyes.

Dean's physical pain, Sam could cope with. He would either cajole or bully, but one way or another he would get Dean to let him check his injuries and take appropriate action. This raw emotion, though, was something else. There had been other occasions when Dean had been unable to hide his pain, and Sam had never been sure how to deal with it. He decided to try a low-key approach.

"What happened in there?"

Dean carefully lowered himself onto his bed, eyes averted. "Slipped on the tiles and put my fist through the mirror. No big deal."

"Uh-huh." Sam wondered if it had taken Dean the whole fifteen minutes to come up with that story. He chose not to pursue it and changed the subject instead. "You use up all the hot water?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"That's cool. I'll catch a shower in the morning."

Sam waited for a wisecrack about his personal hygiene, but none came. Instead, Dean reached over and turned off the lamp on his side of the bed, then shifted onto his stomach, head turned away from Sam.

Sam deliberated. He could say nothing and let Dean deal with this in his own way, as he usually did. But he found he couldn't just sit back, knowing his brother was hurting, just because he had no idea what to say. He took a deep breath.

"We have to talk about what happened," he said quietly.

His answer was a muffled groan.

"Dean…"

"No, Sam, we really don't."

"Come on, dude…"

"Not now."

"When, then?"

"When hell freezes over. And maybe not even then."

Sam wouldn't give up. "Dean, we can't just forget what happened."

"Nothing happened, okay. Just drop it."

"Dean, Dad…"

"I can't talk about this, Sam."

A slight tremor in Dean's voice indicated that he was even closer to the edge than Sam had suspected. He was tempted to keep pushing, but he found himself reluctant to pressure Dean when he was so obviously emotionally vulnerable.

His reluctance won out.

He lay quietly for a long while, thinking about what had happened and trying to imagine what Dean must be feeling right now. He'd always believed that of the two of them, Dad loved Dean the most, and he was cool with that. It made sense – Dean was the perfect son who always followed his father's orders, not the son who'd rebelled as soon as he was old enough to figure out that the life they were leading wasn't for him.

Sam still believed Dean was Dad's favorite and had thought that Dean did, too. Until that moment eight months ago, when The Demon possessing their father had taunted Dean that the reverse was true. To Sam's shock, he had seen from Dean's reaction that his brother believed it. They had never talked about it and Sam had been sure that Dean never would, but now…

Sam knew without a doubt that had Dean been able to speak back in that warehouse, he would have said, "Pick me.". Yet it must have hurt when the choice was made.

If he was honest, the thing that he feared most at this moment was that this – incident – might change things between himself and Dean. Would Dean begin to resent him, because of Dad's decision? Would it change the way his brother felt about him? Sam couldn't bear the though that Dean could come to hate him. One thing had become very clear to him back in that cabin all those months ago, as he'd held his brother in his arms, trying to stop the flow of blood as Dean's life leaked away. Nothing in his life – not the hunt or the plans he had for his future - would ever be more important to him than his brother.

Sam had been listening with half an ear to the sounds coming from across the room as Dean squirmed around, trying to get comfortable. Now, as his brother shifted position with a clear grunt of pain, he frowned. He hopped out of bed and rummaged in his bag, eventually coming up with a bottle of ibuprofen. He padded across the room and squatted down beside the bed.

"Dean?"

His reply was an inarticulate grunt.

"Dean, did you take any painkillers?"

Another grunt, which Sam took to mean, "No."

"Come on, man, you need to take something."

Dean opened one eye. "G'way."

"Dude, don't be stupid. You can't tell me you're not in pain."

Dean sighed and carefully levered himself up on one arm, holding out his free hand.

Sam dropped three pills into Dean's palm and Dean obediently put them in his mouth, and then held his hand out for the water. Sam didn't miss the hiss of pain as he raised the bottle to his mouth, then flopped back onto the bed. Sam decided to push his luck, since Dean seemed too tired and in too much pain to put up much of a fight.

"Let me take a look at your back," he said.

"No."

"Dean, I just want to take a look, make sure nothing's broken."

"Nothin's brok'n."

Sam ignored the petulant comment and sat down on the edge of the bed. He carefully ran his hand across Dean's shoulder, checking the bone, then down his back, wincing as he saw Dean tense, hand knotting in the sheet until the knuckles were white.

Sam was relieved that nothing seemed to be broken, but the flesh was swollen and bruising was already starting to come out. There was a particularly nasty bruise above the left kidney. "Bro, are you pissing blood?"

"Dude!"

Despite his concern, Sam had to bite back a snort of laughter at the indignant tone in his brother's voice. It never ceased to amaze him that for all his brashness, Dean was a real prude when it came to discussing his bodily functions. "I just need to know if you've damaged a kidney."

Dean sighed. "No, I'm not pissing blood, and before you ask, I'm pretty sure I'm not shitting blood either, okay?"

"Okay." Sam stood up. "I'm going to go get some ice for your back."

"It's fine, Sam."

"It's not fine. Look, if you want to be able to move at all in the morning, you're gonna need that ice."

There was a pause, then another sigh of acceptance. "How about a beer to go with the ice?"

"I don't think so."

"You're no fun, Sammy, you know that?"

Sam knew his brother was trying desperately to hold himself together by engaging in his habitual banter, but the continued waver in his voice showed that his heart wasn't in it. Still, he was happy to play along for now. "Yeah, I know. Geekboys don't do fun, remember? Don't move. I'll be right back."


	5. Chapter 5

**Sam**

When he returned with a good supply of ice and a couple of extra pillows Dean was lying still, his eyes closed, but obviously still awake by the sound of his breathing.

"Dude, I'm back. How are you doing?" Sam asked softly.

"Just peachy, Sam," Dean mumbled into the pillow.

"I got you some extra pillows. It won't hurt your back so much if you prop yourself up a bit."

Dean grunted as Sam positioned the pillows so that he rested half on his side, the pillows under his chest. "You're freakin' me out, man. You gonna get a little nurse's outfit next?"

"Just trying to help," Sam said quietly.

He found a couple of plastic bags in the bottom of his bag and poured generous portions of ice in each. Then he wrapped a couple of thin motel towels around the bags and sat back down on the edge of Dean's bed. "I'm putting the ice packs on now, okay?"

Dean sharply drew his breath when Sam applied the first pack and uttered a string of curses.

"Now, now, is that any way to talk in front of your little brother?"

"Bite me!" Dean gasped. "Shit, Sam, that's cold!"

"It's supposed to be cold. That's what takes the swelling down."

"Well, thanks, Florence Freakin' Nightingale."

Sam applied the second pack lower down the back, over the bruised kidney. When he'd finished he hesitated a moment, then laid a hand tentatively on his brother's neck. He felt the muscles beneath his fingers tense for a moment, but Dean didn't speak or push his hand away.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said softly.

"What for?"

"For… what happened. For the way you're feeling."

"Sam, don't, okay."

"If you want to talk about it…"

"I don't."

"Yeah, but…"

"Sam, I know. I just… not now, okay?"

The tremor was back, stronger this time, and to his shock, Sam could tell that Dean was close to tears. Dean, who he remembered crying only once, as a kid. Dean, who had seemed like nothing fazed him up until the past few months, when emotions usually kept firmly locked inside had begun seeping out.

It frightened Sam, seeing his brother so out of control, and because he knew it probably frightened Dean, too, he backed off. "Sorry."

"And stop saying you're sorry."

"Sor…" Sam clamped his mouth shut, squeezed Dean's neck once and removed his hand. But he stayed where he was, close to his brother, but not touching. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, just watching Dean, before Dean spoke again.

"Dad made the right decision. Whatever I… if I… you know I'd always choose you, right?"

Sam felt a lump form in his throat. "Dean…"

"Sammy, you and me, we're good, okay?"

Sam hadn't realized how much he had needed to hear those words until he felt the ripple of released tension flow through him. It was selfish -- Dean was the one suffering here – but it was important that things be right between them.

There was so much he wanted to say, but he knew that right now Dean couldn't cope with hearing any of it, so he simply said, "Yeah, Dean. We're good. But Dean…"

"Don't push it, Geekboy."

"Dean…"

"Hallmark moment's over. Go to bed, Sammy."

Dean's voice was drowsy but there was a note of humor in his tone that lifted Sam's spirits further and gave him hope.

"Dean…"

"For the love of-"

"My name's not Sammy. It's Sam. Okay?"

There was silence for a long moment. Then an amused grunt. Then, "Whatever, you freak."

Sam grinned. "Right back at you, jerk."

There was no reply this time and after a few moments, Sam heard Dean's breathing even out as the combination of pain, medication and exhaustion sent him into a much-needed sleep.

Sam carefully pulled the blankets up around his brother, but didn't move from his position. He'd just wait awhile until the ice began to melt, and then make up a couple more packs. He sat and watched Dean sleep, wishing he could turn back the clock and stop this day from happening, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of protectiveness towards his brother.

Sam knew that this was far from over. Dean was hurting and clearly feeling guilty about it. That wouldn't go away overnight and they would have to talk about it sometime. Their father was going to talk about it; Sam would make sure of that.

Somehow, he was going to make this right for his brother. But he and Dean, they were good. And at this moment, that was the only thing that mattered.

**The End**

It's possible that there will be a sequel to tie up some loose ends. I haven't decided yet!


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